Eye of the Needle
by Guina
Summary: Carol Jordan takes profiler Tony Hill up on his contention that he would sleep with her, if only he could.


**Eye of the Needle**

AnDelenDir (Guina)

© December 2010

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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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He eyed the needle with misgivings on his face. The expression Carol had learned was him so very carefully hiding his true thoughts and feelings from her, from everyone. That very empty look. Yes, she knew that one.

Holding the syringe delicately between forefinger and thumb, in plain view for both of them, she placed it on the couch table. There was a tiny clicking sound when it hit the glass surface. After that it lay there, of so much weight, in its own space. Carol watched him fold his arms and lean back.

"How do you know this works?" Tony asked. "How come you think you're able to - apply this?"

She shrugged.

"They showed me," she answered. "It always works. It's a physical reaction."

He pushed back even further, his shoulders sinking into the soft leather of the backrest, neck and chest showing the strain this placed on him. She got up and poured another coffee from the percolator on the sideboard, careful not to disturb any of the precarious stacks of books resting there. She wondered how his bedroom looked like. More books, probably.

They had talked about this. Not once, many times. In bits and pieces. Never truly acknowledging, never making a real job of it, instead they both had nibbled, a few bites here, another couple there, piecing it together like one of Tony's puzzles.

She was aware of his fears, foremostly the one of being used, and abused. Of pain, at the hands of a woman. Of having sex per se, of being able all of a sudden, of having that crutch taken from him that was his impotence. And it was not as if he himself did not know that as well. Too brilliant an analyst not to know precisely what kept him sceptical.

"You'd like it," he said. "What if I don't?"

She sat on the armrest, perched rather than at ease, and held out the cup to him. For a brief moment their eyes met, as did their fingers when he slid his into the handle.

"The effect lasts about an hour," she answered patiently. "It's not a choice taken from you, it's one you have in addition. If you prefer not to use that erection, it will cease, after a while."

He was cradling the cup in both hands now, like a child drinking hot milk mixed with cocoa. His blue eyes brushed across her face. She had not answered his question those eyes said.

"Yes, I would like it. You know that. But that's not the point, right?" Carol ruthlessly clamped down on the impulse to lean across the empty space between them, to touch and embrace him. That led only to rejection. And fear. She knew it had to be him who made that first move.

He shook his head, then drank deeply from the cup, casting quick glances at her, as if checking the weather.

"No, you are right, it's me," Tony acknowledged. "Would you leave the room, at any moment, if I asked you? Could you do that?"

She ran her hands up and down her own upper arms, embracing herself, providing an assurance lacking yet. What to answer?

"I don't know," she finally decided on stark truth. He would be able to tell anything else. "I can't say, really, Tony. Not because I see the possibility. Only because I can't say how I will behave in a situation I never was in before."

Trust him to make it an awkward situation, she thought. Never easy, not on himself, not on others. In the end all she could do was wait for his decision. And that was what she would be doing now. She lifted her head and met his gaze.

And then, at last, he leaned forward, palmed the syringe with one hand and stretched out the other, holding her regard. Carol rose and took his hand, pulled him up and towards her, out of the entrails of his sofa. They were evenly matched she noticed again, as so often. Nearly the same height, the same slender figures, both toned down and reticent. He moved closer, until she could feel his breath against her cheek, then down her neck.

"Trust," he whispered into her ear. "I trust you not to hurt me."

That said he moved past her, towing her in his wake, huge and fast steps now, into the room to the other side of his flat, the one she had not been in yet.

It was different from how she had envisioned it. No books. Clean. Nearly empty, except for a wide double bed, a chair and a nightstand. No wardrobe, no frills, no nothing. The room was almost clinical. He placed the syringe on the nightstand. From her handbag she added the small bottle of alcohol and swabs.

He waited, looked at her, the question written onto his face. Carol gave him a tiny smile, she knew what he was waiting for.

"You said you will trust me," she answered his face. "You can. Trust me."

He relaxed, a little bit, brows and that ever mobile front still screwed up, trying to field what she had said. Then he did, and the trouble smoothed out of his features. He sat down onto his bed, at a loss what to do, arms resting on his thighs, hands dangling useless and forlorn between them.

Carol pulled the chair close and started to strip, as matter-of-fact as she undressed at home. Shoes, kicked off, jeans unbuttoned and pushed down, the sweater pulled over her head, the bra, then the slip, everything placed a bit haphazardly on the chair. Tony was watching. Not with that languid, expecting expression she was used to from other men. No, he was observing, cataloguing almost.

His candid stare was hard to bear, she discovered, standing almost at attention before him, submitting to his examination. It did not matter that she knew he was wrestling with his inner self, rather than weighing her body, her looks. It still felt like that, and that made it into his perception. He opened a hand, palm towards her. It was enough she judged, stepped up to him, close enough so he could touch her.

Touch her he did, laid her beside him, on the bed. Hands tracing her form, not trained in that language people acquire over the years of dealing with each other. She took care not to show him how much this aroused her. Instead she started to tease his shirt open, smoothing her fingers into the wiry dark hair below his throat. Undoing the buttons until he helped her, until they both faced each other, naked, skin shivering and twitching whenever they happened to brush against each other, either a hand on the other's shoulder.

He laid his face into the crook of her neck then, the gesture so intimate, so very private for him, that she had to swallow. She felt him open himself, looked down his slender length and saw his flaccid member. Both hands away from it, giving her the access she needed.

She twisted around, took the syringe, the small bottle and the swabs, prepared one of them and carefully hunted for the right place. Stretching his penis a bit with one hand, she swabbed the fragile skin with the other, then she injected the way she had been shown. And fisted him. As she also had been shown. He had not as much as flinched, all she noticed had been his breath growing deeper, and he pulled her close to him.

Now they both waited. It did not matter, she thought. They had waited so long.

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Notes:

Psychologically caused impotence is reversible, at will, or rather via a variety of medications. For the severest cases there are injections which will result in an erection for 30 to 60 minutes. Properly done this is harmless, can result in intercourse as well as an ejaculation. The main question is whether the male resorting to this actually wants to have sex.

The unresolved sexual tension between Jordan and Hill, especially in the TV series, has made me wonder what would happen, should Carol offer him this solution. Openly. Unabashedly. Would he take her up on this? And if yes, would he go through with it?


End file.
